


Pas de Deux

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ballet, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: When Greg finds Mycroft trying out ballet in an empty classroom, he offers to teach him.





	Pas de Deux

Mycroft watched Sherlock go into his ballet lesson without so much as a glance back. Mycroft stepped away as the door closed. The moms who had brought their children congregated together talking quietly. Mycroft moved softly down the hall and let himself into an empty practice room.

He’d discovered this room was empty during Sherlock’s class several weeks ago. He set a timer on his phone to make sure he vacated the space before the class was over, then started the music.

Mycroft bore no illusions that he in any way belonged in ballet. Sherlock had done it since he was small and possessed a natural grace. Things were becoming a bit more difficult as he came into his teen years, but he still pursued his interest with all the dogged perseverance a Holmes could muster.

Since he was home from University for the summer, Mycroft had volunteered to shepherd Sherlock to his weekly class. He’d been watching Sherlock for years, but had never dared suggest he might take a class himself. Someone of his size and shape was not built for ballet.

Still, he sometimes had practiced the moves he’d watched in the privacy of home, if the door was locked and Sherlock was otherwise occupied. The last thing he needed was his little brother telling him all the many ways he was doing it wrong, and how he could never be any good. 

He toed off his shoes and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at himself in the mirror. He knew he was lumbering, didn’t need the glass to prove it. He bounced his head to the music, letting himself get the rhythm into his head, then started to move, slowly at first, clumsily copying the moves of those far better than himself.

Mycroft relaxed as he moved, safe in the freedom of knowing he was alone. He kept his eyes closed as he moved across the floor. Socks didn’t give him the support that he’d have in proper shoes, but that was something else he didn’t dare get for himself.

He moved across the floor, careful not to take up too much space. As the first song reached its crescendo he twirled as well as he could. Mycroft tried to stop as the song ended, only for his feet to slip out from under him. He grunted as he landed ungracefully.

“Are you okay?” asked a voice.

Mycroft’s eyes flew open. A man about the same age as himself hurried towards him, strong and muscular as most dancers he’d seen, dressed in a practice leotard that left little to Mycroft’s considerable imagination.

Quickly, Mycroft looked away, struggling to his feet, only for the stranger to reach him and gently take his arm. “That looked like it hurt,” he said. His accent was rough, not the sort of thing Mycroft usually heard in this studio.

“I’m fine. Plenty of padding, after all,” said Mycroft, not looking at the man. The next song had started and Mycroft pulled free of his grip, going for his mobile. “I must have taken your practice space. Apologies, I’ll leave.” Mycroft was aware he was blushing, getting his music off and reaching for his shoes.

“Now hold on a minute,” said the stranger, catching his arm again.

Mycroft looked at him and his heart skipped. The man’s brown eyes were warm and concerned, something about his strength and his looks went right to Mycroft’s groin. Thankfully he was wearing trousers that did a bit decent job at hiding his interest.

“Name’s Greg,” he said, and oh God, that smile did nothing to quell Mycroft’s interest.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he said automatically.

Greg shook his hand. “You’ve been here the last few weeks. Got a sibling in Miss Ruslanovich’s class?”

Mycroft blushed deeper as he realized he’d been watched. “Yes.”

“You’re not half-bad. All self-taught, I’d imagine?”

Mycroft was startled into a laugh. “Do I _look_ like I belong in a ballet class?”

Greg squeezed his hand. “I’d be happy to see you. Have been, if I’m honest. You only dance with your eyes closed.”

“Well, as I said, I don’t need a mirror to see myself move like a hippo.”

“You’ve got your own grace,” said Greg, taking his hand and leading him out to the middle of the floor. “Wait here a minute. Promise you won’t run off?”

Mycroft huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Got a pair of shoes that’ll work for you, I think, that’ll save that pretty bottom of yours from another slip.”

Greg winked at him. Mycroft gaped, but, true to his word stayed where he was until Greg returned a minute or so later. Before he could protest Greg knelt down and got the slippers onto him. It all made Mycroft feel a bit like Cinderella.

“There,” said Greg, when he finished. He straightened and gave Mycroft another grin. “Now, let’s work on your form.”

He put his hand on Mycroft’s waist, startling him into moving. He kept a hand on him as well as a steady stream of chatter as he stepped him through some basic movements. “See, I can tell you’ve been watching your sibling and the other dancers. Just need someone to give you a little correction and help you along.”

“It’s still a waste of time,” muttered Mycroft.

“Not with how relaxed you looked when doing it on your own. I bet you don’t let your hair down very often. Look in the mirror, go on.”

Hesitating, Mycroft looked up. Greg stood behind him, gently guiding him as he moved. He still wouldn’t qualify as anyone’s idea of ethereal, but he did have to grudgingly admit that his feet seemed to know what they were doing.

The alarm went off, shattering the moment. Mycroft hurried to shut it off. Greg watched him and gave Mycroft one more smile “See you next week?” he asked.

Mycroft nodded and hurried out of the slippers, getting his own shoes back on. “I’ll be here,” he said. If he had to be here for Sherlock, why not take a little time for himself?

“Good.” Greg walked over and picked up Mycroft’s hand, kissing the back of it. “Until next week, Mycroft.”

Mycroft stared at him and nodded. “Yes,” he managed.

Greg bent down and picked up the slippers, sending Mycroft’s thoughts south once again. Swallowing, Mycroft turned on his heel and hurried out, making it back before Sherlock’s class had let out.

Fortunately, Sherlock was too distracted with thoughts of his class to notice any change in his brother.

**

The following week Mycroft once again delivered Sherlock to his class, then anxiously went to the practice room. This time Greg was waiting for him, dressed in the same leotard and ready with the slippers.

He smiled at Mycroft as he came in. “Ready?”

“I really should be paying you if you’re going to be teaching me,” he said, accepting the slippers and getting them on.

“You are with every smile,” said Greg.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That was terrible.”

“It’s still true,” said Greg, offering his hand. “And you are not as heavy or ungraceful as you think you are.”

Mycroft didn’t bother arguing, simply allowed Greg to lead him through some warm-ups and into some steps. It was more workout than Mycroft was used to, but Greg seemed to have infinite patience. And the feeling of Greg’s hands gently correcting a position or standing close was making Mycroft’s heart skip.

But surely Greg was only doing this out of kindness and perhaps boredom, no need to read anything further into it.

They wrapped up again before Sherlock’s class ended. Once more Greg kissed his hand and bid Mycroft adieu with a promise to see him the following week.

This time Sherlock did notice something and gave his brother an appraising look, but, for once in his life, said nothing. Which probably meant he was plotting something for later.

**

The third week began the same way as the last. Mycroft found himself relaxing in Greg’s presence as they worked. He’d been practicing more at home and had begun to feel more confident.

“Good,” said Greg, taking a step back and letting Mycroft move on his own.

Suddenly the door opened and Sherlock was there, staring wide-eyed at the pair. “Lestrade?” he asked.

Mycroft faltered, coming to a sudden halt. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t you be consuming an entire cake at a sitting?” retorted Sherlock.

“Oi,” said Greg, putting himself between the pair and going towards Sherlock. “You leave your brother alone.”

Sherlock made a face. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll have to talk to Miss Ruslanovich.”

Sherlock weighed his options. “You’re teaching him to dance?”

“A bit. He already knows a lot. Probably been watching you for years.”

“He has,” said Sherlock. He glanced at Mycroft, then back at Greg. “He likes that café down the street,” he said, then ducked back out.

Mycroft sat down heavily on a bench and covered his face a moment before reaching to take off the slippers. 

“We weren’t done,” said Greg, catching his hands.

“This is a waste of your time and considerable talents,” said Mycroft.

“Not at all,” said Greg, bringing Mycroft’s hands to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. “But if you’re not in the mood now, we could go to the café.”

“It would probably be embarrassing to be seen with me,” muttered Mycroft.

“Not at all. And if anyone thinks so, they can fuck off,” said Greg, pulling him to his feet. “I like spending time with you, Mycroft.”

“I don’t understand why.”

Greg smiled at him. “You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, and you love to dance; why wouldn’t I?”

Mycroft looked at him, then away. “Can I have your number?”

“Course,” said Greg, taking Mycroft’s mobile.

Mycroft bit his lip and watched him. “I’ll call you. We… we’ll have a proper date?”

“I’ll look forward to,” said Greg with a grin, putting the phone down. “Let’s finish our practice, then.”

Mycroft nodded, smile returning and let Greg tug him to his feet. They moved out to the floor and Greg resumed his gentle teaching. Mycroft let himself get lost in the music again, comfortable.

When they finished and he handed Greg back the slippers, he gave him a shy smile. “I will call you.”

“You better,” teased Greg, squeezing his hand. “I’m free Friday night.”

“I’ll check my schedule,” said Mycroft, only reluctantly letting go.

Mercifully, Sherlock said nothing when Mycroft went to collect him. Mycroft guided him out of the studio, hoping that nothing would prevent him from spending Friday night with Greg.

**

Mycroft called to finalize plans the next day. Greg sounded eager, promising to pick Mycroft up at six. “Dinner, a bit of dancing, how does it sound?” asked Greg.

“With you? Wonderful,” said Mycroft.

** 

Friday afternoon found Mycroft deep in his closet trying on outfit after outfit. He’d been on very few dates in his life so far and what did you wear for dinner and dancing with the most handsome man you’d ever met?

At some point, while Mycroft was in the bathroom trying to get his ginger hair to cooperate, Sherlock wandered into the room. He took one look at the pile on the bed and went into Mycroft’s closet, coming back out a short time later with a pair of jeans he’d forgotten he’d ever owned and a soft blue button-up shirt. “This,” he pronounced.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but accepted his decision. Sherlock had a good eye for clothes. “Fine, thank you,” he said politely, gathering the clothes and going to change.

“If he hurts you, I’ll poison him,” said Sherlock through the door. 

Mycroft closed his eyes. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “And I can handle myself.”

Sherlock scoffed but left the room.

Mycroft finished dressing and pulled on a black jacket, making it downstairs just as he heard the sound of a motorcycle pull up.

Father caught him in the foyer and patted his shoulder. “Come home whenever you’re done. I know you’re responsible.”

Mycroft blushed and muttered thanks before hurrying out the door.

He nearly tripped going down the stairs. Greg looked sexy in anything, tight jeans and a motorcycle jacket took it to another level. Greg grinned at him and offered a helmet. “Come on.”

“Thank you,” managed Mycroft, getting the helmet on and settling behind Greg, holding onto his waist as he took off.

Greg was warm under Mycroft’s hands. He could smell the leather as he leaned against Greg’s shoulder, feel the strength of him. He dearly hoped this night would go as well as he hoped it would.

Mycroft could tell Greg was driving safe as he could; no showing off or diving through traffic as they navigated through the city. To Mycroft’s surprise, Greg parked outside a block of flats. “I live here,” said Greg, nodding up at the building. “There’s a few places within walking distance I thought you might like.”

“I trust your instincts,” smiled Mycroft, handing over the helmet.

Greg grinned back and reached for Mycroft’s hand, leading him out to the busy pavement.

Mycroft stuck his free hand in his pocket and blushed as his fingers found something he hadn’t put in there. Apparently Father wanted to make sure he was safe. Luckily Greg was looking at where they were going and didn’t seem to notice.

They slipped into a cozy cafe and were soon shown to a booth in the back. Greg tangled his feet with Mycroft’s as they waited. “Thank you, for this.”

“I should be thanking you,” said Mycroft. “For the lessons and for the date.”

Greg grinned at him. “Hopefully there’s more than one date.”

“It’s already off to a good start, but let’s see how it goes.” Mycroft fidgeted with his napkin. “I’m going back to University in the fall.”

“Well, I’m glad to get as much of your time as I can. And the night is young.” Greg gave him one of his warm grins and Mycroft almost instantly relaxed.

Greg chatted as they ate. He was teaching classes at the studio over the summer, hoping to get in with a company in the fall, though if that didn’t happen he had a fall back plan to attend classes. “I’m interested in choreography as well,” he said.

“You’d be good at it. You’re a wonderful teacher,” said Mycroft.

“You’re a good student, and eager to learn. I know what you think of yourself, but you do have a bit of a gift for it.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “If you say so. I’m still not built for ballet.”

“Maybe not for the professional life, but nothing saying you can’t do it as a hobby. Anyone can dance, and you do it well.”

“Well, you did promise dancing tonight,” said Mycroft.

“And we will. Let me get the bill.” Greg went to pay before Mycroft could protest.

They headed back outside. Greg again took Mycroft’s hand as they walked. The night was warm and comfortable, the city alive around them. Mycroft couldn’t remember another time he’d felt so happy and comfortable with another person.

It wasn’t far to a club. The music thumped faintly into the street. Greg grinned at Mycroft and pulled him inside. Mycroft let himself be led, following Greg down some stairs and into the semi-darkness.

The place was primarily men, most of them moving on the dance floor. Greg took him over to the bar, getting two drinks. They moved out of the way, finding some quiet space against the wall.

In the safety of the dim light Greg put an arm around Mycroft’s waist, holding him close. Mycroft shivered and leaned against him, sipping his drink, hoping the night would go on forever.

Greg took Mycroft’s jacket as he finished his drink, leaving him for a moment to go put them somewhere. When he returned he took Mycroft’s hand again and tugged him towards the floor. “Don’t worry about anyone else,” he said in Mycroft’s ear. “I want to see you dance.”

Mycroft bit his lip. Greg started to move his hips in a way that could only be described as sinful, nudging Mycroft. Taking a breath, Mycroft started to move in response, smiling at Greg’s encouragement.

And somehow it was all right. Nobody pointed and laughed at him. In fact, nobody but Greg even paid attention. Mycroft rolled up his sleeves after the first song, noticing the appreciative look Greg was giving him. He still didn’t understand how someone as attractive as Greg could be interested in him, but it was clear that he was.

Greg danced closer to him over the next few songs. Mycroft found it easy to follow his lead. It was intoxicating, between the warmth of the dance floor and Greg’s hands touching him.

Of course Greg was graceful, but he didn’t show off either. He was relaxed and enjoying himself, watching Mycroft, smiling warmly. The music filled their veins, pulsing and loud. Mycroft’s usual life was rigidly controlled, but here, he could let himself simply be.

At some point, Mycroft noticed they were close to a wall. Grinning, he crowded Greg against it. Greg smiled in response, putting his hands on Mycroft’s hips and pulling him flush.

Moaning softly, Mycroft leaned in and kissed him, heart pounding, a soft moan escaping his lips, lost in the thumping music.

Greg opened his mouth to him, hands squeezing Mycrfot’s hips. He broke the kiss to nibble on his ear. “Wanna go back to mine?”

“God, yes,” Mycroft nodded vigorously.

Greg grinned and took his hand again, stopping to collect their jackets, then led them outside. Mycroft tugged them into the shadow of an alley and kissed Greg again.

Laughing, Greg kissed him back. “Come on, plenty of time for that at mine.”

They hurried through the streets and quickly made it back to the block of flats. Greg led the way upstairs and unlocked his door. He kicked it shut behind him as they tumbled inside and somehow landed on the couch.

Mycroft found himself in Greg’s lap, kissing him deeply. Greg held him close, kissing him back but letting Mycroft control the situation.

Greg’s interest was obvious underneath him. Mycroft shifted his hips, but felt a bit of rising anxiety as Greg put a hand on his thigh. Breathless he broke the kiss and pulled back. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” he said.

Smiling warmly, Greg gave him a chaste kiss. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We don’t have to do everything tonight.” Carefully he shifted Mycroft off his lap. “You want some water?”

“Yes, please,” said Mycroft, scrubbing his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You go back to school in two months?” Greg filled up two glasses and carried them over to the sofa.

“About that, yes,” said Mycroft, taking a big gulp of water and trying to calm himself down.

“Plenty of time. And we don’t need to go all the way to have fun.” Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s knee but no higher.

Mycroft gave him a smile. “Thank you for understanding.” He leaned in to kiss him again but found that his interest had cooled has cooled.

Greg noticed the change. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“That would probably be best. I… I want to, but…” He squeezed Greg’s hand.

“It’s all good,” said Greg gently. “I’ll see you for practice in a couple days, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” said Mycroft quickly.

“And maybe another date?” asked Greg, reaching for his mobile.

“You can count on that, if you’re willing,” said Mycroft.

“More than,” said Greg, getting up and dialing the cab company. Mycroft finished his water and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

Greg came back to him and helped him to his feet, stealing one more kiss. “They’ll be here in a minute, let me walk you downstairs.”

Mycroft nodded and headed out, jacket over his arm. He leaned in and kissed Greg again in the stairwell. “I had a good time.”

“Me too. I’ll see you soon.” 

The cab pulled up as they reached the street. Greg got the door for him and waved him off. Mycroft slouched back in the seat. This was going to be an amazing rest of the summer, he was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Beltainefaerie and astudyinfic for reading it over
> 
> Somewhat inspired by [this video](https://twitter.com/lizzo/status/1165070119455903744)


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